


like she'd been here before

by awkwardfantasy



Category: Minecraft diaries - Fandom, aphmau - Fandom, mystreet
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardfantasy/pseuds/awkwardfantasy
Summary: In which a goddess reincarnates
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37





	like she'd been here before

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO i wrote this in one sitting at 4am please enjoy. thank you to aiki (vyladromeave on tumblr) and danny (jessbianism on twitter) for proofreading this for me! they're great please check them out 
> 
> inspired by the song Here Before by Vashti Bunyan

_Once I had a child_

_He was wilder than moonlight_

_He could do it all_

_Like he'd been here before_

Irena was a strange child. No one quite knew where she came from but, then again, no one had cared to ask the child with eyes of gold and strange markings across her form such a question. No, Irene was a mystery no one felt it was their right to solve. She found companionship with the merchants who came and went as they told her of the world beyond the village boundaries and what it held, she found it with the women in the town square who shared tales of Magick and myth, she found it with the guards who taught her to wield a sword and fight for her own safety. She ran barefoot through the forest in the dead of night, claiming to be following the stars. 

As she grew, it became apparent she had a gift of Magick unlike any other documented by known scholars. Not that it mattered much, her being such a young thing from such a small village. The trees and bushes grew at her touch, the wolves in the woods beyond the village answered to her call, even the very light itself seemed to hold a fondness for the child. As she grew further into her power, she began to develop an ability to heal and it wasn’t long before the village relied on her to cure their sick and help their injured. But when news of a plague spreading throughout the region reached her, she claimed it was only right that she go out and help. That this could be why this power had manifested within her when it did. And so she left, on a mission to heal the world. 

Irene was so, deeply, unimaginably tired. Or at least, she felt she should be. In truth, tiredness was as foreign to her as the tears that she shed only because it felt _right_. Right that she weeped after so many years of war and peace. She had overthrown monarchs and befriended wyverns and felt love and loss and power until, of course, she felt nothing. She could give and take life as easy as a wave of her hand. The people call her a goddess. A saviour. An angel. She filled that role easily enough, but the wings they worship were stained with more blood than they could ever comprehend. Irene the Matron, she scoffed. As if her blade wasn’t put to more use than her healing ever was. As if she helped more people than those hurt as a consequence. She supposed that was why she had gone to Hyria. Her final and dearest companion. She was going to give herself another chance at living, maybe change herself for the better. She placed the staff in the witches hands and a kiss upon her lips and closed her eyes. She was so painfully tired. 

_Once I had a child_

_She was smiling like sunshine_

_She could see it all_

_Like she'd been here before_

Lord Aphmau was a woman who made quite the name for herself. After all, it was hard to ignore someone who took it upon herself to solve the problems of strangers. Stories passed through the land of a woman who walked with a pack of wolves at her heels, always on a mission but never hesitant to lend a hand elsewhere. She had guards who were sworn to her both by blade and by heart. She journeyed into the Nether more than once and lived to tell the tale. She stared the high priest of O'Khasis in the face and told him to leave her home. Such a small village it was, to have attracted the attention it did. She brought werewolves who called her sister with her into battle. She had allies across the region and found herself a friend of anyone she encountered. 

And then she was gone. 

Of course, a woman like Aphmau doesn’t disappear without a fight. Fifteen years passed before people spoke in whispers of a woman who travelled the land to reform an old alliance. She no longer claimed to be of Phoenix Drop. Instead explained they were allies of hers and would invite whatever village she found herself in to join them. There was a familiarity about her that made many people accept the request. Anyone who found themself with her, even if only shortly, could expect to bump shoulders with Lords and with Shadow Knights, with demons and with elves, with witches and with warriors who were mourned dead long ago. They all follow her, for reasons entirely their own, and would invite you to do the same if you felt it right. If not, they would wish you well and move on, but do not mistake this as the end: Aphmau has decided you are a friend and will call on you if ever needed. 

Stories travel the land of this Phoenix Alliance and the woman at its head. She holds herself differently than she did all those years ago. She knows loss, this much is clear. Her power has grown, her eyes of that deep golden hue and the wings that occasionally sprout from her back are evidence of that. People speak of her abilities, of saving them from various threats, of her power to heal; and one woman tells the tale of how Aphmau has returned her son from the grave. She is many things to many people. A fearless leader, a saviour, a mother. (A lover, to a certain few). When “Goddess” and “Matron” are added to that list, those that know her feel its fitting. Those that don’t, most likely will never, as all of a sudden she isn’t the woman who travels to explore and helps to help. She is the goddess who _must_ have some higher purpose for doing what she does. 

People begin to refer to her as the Phoenix. Not only because of her alliance, and the village her sons and brother find their home in, but because of how she breathes new fire into the world and brings it up from the ashes. She continues to be the leader the people need and stories of her continue to spread. 

The news spreads fast of her overthrowing of Lord Janna of Skystead after she had threatened the safety of one of her friends. How, instead of taking over herself, she left the village in the care of a regent from Pikoro until the people chose someone new to lead them. 

People sing of the battles she led against those from Tu’La occupying the coast and what used to be O'Khasis. She left the fate of the city to a Meif’wa, as he was a victim of the king who once occupied it, and no Ro’meave left cared to take up the lordship. 

No one there at the final charge against the Shadow Lord would forget the way she took one look at a Shadow Knight with a blade clutched in his hand and a fire blazing in his eyes and embraced him as a friend. Without a word of explanation, she had secured the allegiance of a new group that had been growing within the confines of the Nether.

Splitting her soul _hurt._ There was no way to describe it other than burning pain that echoed throughout her entire being. But it had to be done if her final goal of freeing the world she loved so much from a man she had also loved was to be met. She was mourned, _of course_ , she was mourned. The world would be safe at her sacrifice, and that was all that mattered. 

_Then I had a child_

_Took his while like northern summer_

_And he knows it all_

_Like he's been here before_

When a baby is born centuries later, most stories of the Matron and of the Phoenix have been lost to time. Her name is Aphmau Irena Shalashaska, and she is born with no memory of who she is going to be. 

She will make friends with people who feel like they’ve already spent decades by her side, despite not even walking the earth for that long. She is going to become Alpha of a pack of werewolves and learn she leads as second nature. When she casts a spell that should take years of practice and study to even consider attempting, she’s going to brush it off as dumb luck. When people who’ve known her for just under a year find themselves ready to risk it all for her, they’re going to tell themselves it's a simple crush. There are some things she won’t be able to explain away however, like why the lack of any form of relationship with someone she doesn’t even know will feel like such a deep aching loss. 

She’s going to think she falls in love. What else could this connection with him be? When they fall apart, she’s going to cry, and mourn, and wonder why she feels as if they were always living on borrowed time. She’s going to wonder why she feels a spike of fear at the approach of people she considers friends. She’s going to smile in satisfaction that no one she cares for has been severely hurt as of late (or inflicted that onto another) and then pause to question why that was a concern. 

When she has her first real encounter with dark powers, it is going to leave her and those she travels with bruised and scarred. It’s also going to leave her with so many more questions. What part of the forever potions makes people call her by her middle name? Why does she feel sadness and guilt of all things when she sees the ghost that inhabits the lodge? And why does it feel like such an injustice when Zane is the only one she remembers from her past and clings to? Most of all, what is this power she feels growing in her and why will it feel so right? 

He’s going to call himself Micheal. And Micheal is going to call himself Terry. But she will know neither of those are his name. She would wonder why she knows this, but she’s going to learn that this sort of thing just happens to her sometimes and it’s a waste of energy to question it. However, it won’t stop her pushing to find what his real name is. She is going to at least try and enjoy herself, finally reunited with all of her friends (but it won’t feel like all of them, not anymore) but something about the island will scream at her to run, to fight, to just _remember_. 

Aphmau Irene Shalashaska is going to be shot, and she is going to die. She is going to fall to the ground and bleed out, and she is going to die. She won’t go to any afterlife however, not yet. She is going to see a battlefield where (almost) everyone she has ever known is fighting under one banner, for one cause, and it will be up to her to end it. She is going to see a city where she is all at once the founder, the leader, and the goddess the people worship. She will see a boat on an open ocean, an army intending to burn her home to the ground for the honour of one family. She is going to watch a lover she can no longer care for beg her to stay, and she is going to see a nation on the verge of destroying itself turn to her and her alone. She is going to run barefoot towards the stars. 

And when she wakes up, her questions will all be answered. She is Aphmau Irene Shalashaska, she is Lord Aphmau the Phoenix, she is Lady Irene the Matron. And she is going to remember everything.


End file.
